On the Front Lines with Channel Seven News
by chronicler-of-knuckles
Summary: Meet Channel7 brand new front lines news crew, showing the world modern day war as it happens- if they can get it slipped pass the CIA censors, approved by news director Mary Travis and owner of station 7, Orin Travis, pay off informants, scam their way


TITLE: "You are on the Front Lines with Channel Seven News"  
  
AUTHOR: The Chronicler  
  
RATING: PG  
  
UNIVERSE: M7 Front Line News  
  
OPEN/CLOSED: Open (do as you will with it)  
  
NOTE: Devon asked me to write this. It's just an intro. that hopefully others will pick up on. I have no plans for it from here on out. So, go crazy.  
  
SUMMARY: Meet Channel Seven's brand new front lines news crew, dedicated to show the world modern day war as it happens.... that is if they can get it slipped pass the CIA censors, approved by their news director Mary Travis and her father-in-law and owner of station 7, Orin Travis, pay off informants, scam their way to the truth... oh, and considering it is a war zone, live long enough to beat the deadline.  
  
ARCHIVE: Sure thingy.  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please.  
  
EMAIL: chronicler_of_knuckles@yahoo.com  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"You are on the Front Lines   
  
with Channel Seven News"  
  
By The Chronicler  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Chris Larabee looked around the news room.   
  
Well, it was actually a hotel dinning hall turned news room. Big, elegant, hand crafted designs curled up the walls and across the ceiling. At the front of the room was a rather well built pedestal surrounded by U.N. flags and seals of varies armed services. Immediately in front of the pedestal were several rows of folding seats with one folding lounge chair laid out to the side. Surrounding that area were several news cameras marked with news networks from around the world. Scattered around the remainder of the room were long tables covered with laptops, telephones, and varies other office equipment. One wall of the room was stacked to the ceiling with televisions, each set to a different news channel, one set to the Rugrats. Against the adjoining wall that ran along the back of the room were tables laden with snacks and coffee pots.   
  
Strangely enough, the room seemed mostly empty. Except for a handful of men scattered across the room. And the blond bombshell walking straight across the big room and directly to the man standing in the doorway.  
  
Her wavy blond hair seemed to float around her shoulders, her bright blue eyes, seemingly shy as they peered over the top of her reading glasses, and perfectly formed lips were every bit friendly. Her dress suit, though professional, fit close to her skin, etching out her slim, yet well formed, body.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Larabee? Chris Larabee?" She cast a glance at the clipboard as if to double check the name.  
  
Chris looked the woman up and down, and smiled, admiring the view. "Yes, ma'am. That would be me." he answered, offering an old fashion tip of his black stetson. "And you are?"  
  
The woman returned the smile, though her eyes narrowed just slightly, evaluating him. "I am Mary Travis, director of Channel Seven News." She offered her hand. "Welcome to Iran."  
  
Chris took her hand and shook it. "Thanks... Travis... relation to Old Man Orin Travis." he wondered.  
  
Her smile faltered slightly. "`Old Man' Orin Travis is my father-in-law. `And' owner of Channel 7. A powerful, influential, good man that is due every respect." she returned a little curtly.  
  
"Ah." Chris shrugged, undaunted. "Well, Old Man Travis asked me to come. So, I came. He neglected to tell me why. Perhaps, now that I am here, half way around the world, you could fill me in."  
  
Mary frowned. "He didn't tell you anything?" When Chris shook his head, she turned away and stomped a couple of feet off. "Why that scheming old bastard!" she hissed so suddenly she hadn't even realized she had spoken out loud until she heard Chris' chuckle. Looking horrified at her own words, she glanced over her shoulder at the man.  
  
Chris just nodded, saying "Yup, that'd be Old Man Travis. Good man due every respect."   
  
Blushing, Mary turned away again. Sharply she called "If you will follow me... Mister Larabee."   
  
Chris picked up his big duffel bag and followed her across the room to the lounge chair which was occupied by a napping brown haired man in rugged jeans and a 9-11 memorial t-shirt with its sleeves rolled up.  
  
"I'll be damned." Chris shook his head. "Shoulda known he wouldn't have been too far off. Man's drawn to a fight like a bee to honey." He reached out and dropped his duffel in the man's middle.  
  
"Ooof!" he gasped as the heavy bag doubled him up. "What the hell..."  
  
"Mr. Wilmington!" Mary snapped, reminding him of his language in her presence.  
  
Buck Wilmington blinked up at her, trying to figure out just what had so rudely awoken him. But then he saw the answer. "Chris! Chris Larabee!" he hooted, shoving the bag off of him and onto the floor. Jumping to his feet, he threw his arms around him in a quick hug, before stepping back and slugging him in the shoulder. "You ever thought of a howdy? You always gotta wake me up in some rib crackin' way?" he demanded.  
  
Chris smiled. "Good to see you too, Buck." But then he glanced around suspiciously. "What's the agency doing here?" he asked in hushed tones.  
  
"Mr. Wilmington no longer works with the CIA." Mary informed him. "Like you, he has retired from the agency."  
  
Both men winced, glancing around to see who might of heard.  
  
Mary sighed. "Gentlemen, the CIA is hardly a secret any more. It was hardly a secret back when it was supposed to be a secret. And, in case you missed it, you are standing in the middle of a news room. If those present don't know about the CIA and where your training came from, then they are lousy reporters and should be shipped back to the states to work on what Jessica Simpson is wearing on the next episode of Lets Make Fun of the Farm Folk."  
  
Chris and Buck exchanged amused glances, then Buck shrugged. "She's full of spit and fire, that one. Should see what happens when someone tells her `no comment'." He slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Good to have you back in the game, Chris. Just no fun without you."  
  
"What game exactly?" Chris asked, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"Mr Wilmington, will you please give him the run down on the team while I see about getting the old man on the line." Mary spun about and stomped off to a phone station.  
  
Buck snapped off a salute. "Aye-aye, Captain."   
  
The two men watched her walk away, then Chris turned to his long time friend and one time partner with a question that just needed to be asked: "What the hell are you up to, Buck?"  
  
Buck grinned. He set a hand on top of his head and stepped out from under it. His mouth opened, but he stopped cold when he was hit by Chris Larabee's steel blue glare.  
  
"Mention feet or inches and I'm catching the next plane back home." he warned.  
  
Buck shrugged slightly. "Meters?" He winced under the intensity of his friend's glare. Sighing, he ran a hand through his curls. "The Old Man came knocking on the door. What else? I owed him."  
  
Chris nodded. "He got you out of the agency?"  
  
Buck chuckled. "No... a certain Senator's daughter can lay claim for that one."  
  
Chris shook his head. "Same old Buck." He glanced around, then looked up at his friend again. "So, what are you doing here? What team? What's the Old Man got up his sleeve? And why am I here?"  
  
Buck grinned, spreading his hands. "We're Channel 7 News' Front Line reporters." he said as if it explained everything.  
  
Larabee's eyes narrowed. "Reporters?" He huffed. "What the hell do you know about reporting the news? Hell, you could barely report your own name on a good day!"  
  
His friend's head bobbed about as if it was a bobble head on the dash of a car. "Well.... yea. Actually Ezra Standish does the actual in front of the camera reporting. Josiah Sanchez is the investigator, does the local hellos and `tell me everything'. Vin gets us around, wilderness wise."  
  
"Wilderness? We're in a desert."  
  
Buck shrugged. "There's all types of wilderness, Chris. And Vin knows how to get around all of them. He was an Army Ranger."  
  
"Was?" Chris pushed for further details.  
  
Buck shrugged again. "Apparently he owed the Old Man too." He frowned. "Apparently, all of us owed him in some way... 'cept the kid. Don't know how he got here."  
  
"Kid?"  
  
"J.D. Dunne. He does all the computer stuff. Kid can hack anything. Hell, some claim he can hack a freakin' camel... and, you know what? I don't doubt it." He waved a hand at the one television that had been playing Rugrats and had, now, moved on to Recess. "Who do you think got the Toon channel with a foil pie dish and some other stuff I don't know what the hell to call?"  
  
"He watches cartoons?" Chris had a moment of concern. "Just how old is this kid?"  
  
"Oh, no... the cartoons were for me. He was bored. Wanted something to do. I was going through Looneytoon withdraw, so..." Buck shrugged. "Kid looks sixteen, but Mary says he's twenty-two."  
  
Chris frowned. "What does he say?" he wanted to know.   
  
Buck frowned too. "He refers to his passport or to Mary. Mary tells us to keep an eye on him. We do. Personally..." he actually blushed a little, "kinda fond of the kid. Reminds me of... well, you'll meet him." His voice had softened, sadden, as if remembering a sad moment.  
  
Chris watched him for a moment. Whatever he did, however long he stayed, he was going to have to meet this J.D. Dunne. Not many could bring the ever-happy Buck Wilmington to this frame of emotion. "So, Standish is the face, Sanchez is the background, Tanner is the get around, Dunne is the tech... Anyone else? And what exactly do you do? Comic relief?"  
  
"Funny!" Buck shook a finger at him. "Nathan Jackson, medic, mother hen, and camera man. Nate made a lot of friends here abouts when he was with some sort of Red Cross Underground. I gathered that that was when he and Josiah first hooked up, and when they both ended up owing the Old Man... whatever for..." He shrugged. "As for me, military intelligence."  
  
Chris smirked. "Isn't that an oxymoron?"  
  
Buck frowned. "You calling me a moron?" He waved away any possible response. "I know about fighting. I keep them safe, fill in the blanks in the military briefings, so on and so forth."  
  
"And that's everyone?" When Buck nodded, Chris scratched his head. "So, back to question one: Why am I here?"  
  
"Because," Mary spoke as she returned, "we have put together a crack shot team that will bring every at-home American a front line view of the truth about war... and they need a leader." She smiled. "You are that leader."  
  
Chris Larabee glared at her. "Think so?" He glanced sharply at his friend. His voice rose in anger. "This why I'm here? You know better, Buck. I don't do this anymore." He jabbed a finger at the floor. "I don't lead. I don't follow. And I sure as hell don't take on anybody!" Again he glared at Mary. "When and if you ever get a hold of the Old Man, tell him thanks, but no thanks. I quit this part of the world for a reason."   
  
"Was it a good reason?" Mary challenged. "I mean, sure, it would have to be if you gave up hunting down the truth. Hey, lots of things are more important than the truth." She bit back a startled cry when Chris suddenly stepped so close she could feel his breath on her face.  
  
"I gave everything for the truth." he hissed. "And it took everything from me." He stepped back again, grabbing his duffel bag up. "Give me a good reason why I should give a damn about it now." With that, he spun about and headed for the door.  
  
"I did get a hold of the Old Man." Mary called after him. "He said to tell you to give his best to Sarah."  
  
Chris Larabee froze in midstep. Slowly he turned to stare at her.  
  
Mary didn't understand the message. Her father-in-law had refused to explain. But the very fact that Chris Larabee stood before her, several shades paler, told her just enough to know that she needed to find out who Sarah was.  
  
The man's eyes shifted just enough to look from her to Buck. "Did you know he was gonna do that?" he asked in a near whisper.  
  
Buck shook his head. "We all owe Travis. And that's why we're all here. But I didn't know he was gonna bring up Sarah."  
  
Chris' dropped his eyes, sighing, a long tired sigh. After a moment, he looked up again. "Where we sacking out?"   
  
Mary held out a hotel key.   
  
Chris sent her one last glare, before snatching the key. "Buck, I wanna see everyone in ten minutes in whatever office we have." He frowned a question at his friend.  
  
"ATV and a hummer in the parking lot. Has our call sign on the hoods." Buck informed him.  
  
"Our office is a truck?" Chris asked with a groan.  
  
Buck grinned. "Welcome to the front lines, buddy."   
  
Chris grunted. "Yea, great." He turned and walked out. But this time he was heading for the elevator and not the airport.  
  
Buck took a deep breath. "Well, there you go."  
  
Mary looked up at him. "What's his story, Buck? Who's Sarah?" she wanted to know.  
  
Buck looked at her. "His wife." he said simply. Grabbing his cap from the back of his lounge chair, he started for the door.   
  
But Mary grabbed his arm. "Wife?" She shook her head. "The Old Man didn't want people with dependents. He didn't want families left behind to worry."  
  
"Well, no problem, then. Sarah's been comatose since '00. Your sweet ol' father-in-law pays the hospital bills." Buck shrugged. "So, you see, no one depends on Chris anymore."  
  
Mary gasped. "Oh, my... what happened?"  
  
He ran his fingers through his brown locks before pulling his cap on. "They had this... beautiful little boy. Adam Larabee." He smiled at sweet memories. "Sarah was with CIA until she became pregnant. No mothers allowed. At least when there's no other family to take care of the kids if something happens to mommy and daddy. Travis, who, as you know, likes to hire ex-spies, snatched her up as a consultant. Paid good, sent flowers when Adam was born back in '94." He chuckled. "I was his Uncle Buck. He named his teddy bear Buckeye." Then his smile faded as a far off look fell over his features. "Sarah and Adam met us in Germany for Father's Day, 1999. Sarah and I went to conspire a New Year's surprise for Chris. Chris took Adam off to have some daddy and son fun." Buck closed his eyes. "They got caught in a terrorist bombing. Chris twisted his ankle. Adam was killed."  
  
Mary put a hand to her face. "Oh, that must have been horrible." She shook her head. "But, Sarah was with you... ?"  
  
Buck nodded. "Chris was devastated. His world was that boy. Sarah took him home. She put every ounce of strength she had to bringing him back. She had just gotten him living again when the agency called him up and said `hey, wanna help bring down the bastards that murdered your boy?' Chris became obsessed with finding and bring down terrorist. He had a new reason for living." He paused to shrug. "And Sarah didn't have anyone to take care of anymore. Anyone to distract herself from the fact that she buried her baby boy. While we were running around the world, taking out revenge left and right, Sarah was at home, swallowing a bottle of pills."  
  
"She committed suicide?"  
  
"Attempted." Buck corrected. "When she didn't show up for work, Travis went to check on her, found her, got her to the hospital... saved her life. But... There was too much damage. She never woke up. Chris right out quit life, hid himself away in some little hut on the top of some mountain in some back woods somewhere in the states. The Old Man still takes care of Sarah." Buck looked directly at her. "And that's the story of Chris Larabee. And my ten minutes are about up." He started for the door again.  
  
"One more question, Buck?" Mary called after him again.  
  
Buck shrugged.  
  
"You said everyone owes the Old Man. What did you owe him for?"  
  
Buck chuckled. "No one just up and quits the spy business, Mary. When Chris tried, they ordered me to bring him back. Instead I went to Travis. I knew he had the influence to call off the hunt."  
  
"You owe the Old Man because you wanted to save your friend?" Mary almost couldn't believe it. But, then again, she knew there was a lot more to each of these men than what was obvious. "Does he know how you got here?" she asked softly.  
  
Again Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "Ol' Chris?" He turned to look directly at her. "And he's never gonna know. Right?"  
  
Mary stared at him for a long moment, before a yell from the door way.  
  
"Buck! You coming?"   
  
Buck smiled, patted Mary on the arm, then turned and jogged for the door. "Yea, Chris. On my way."  
  
~~~~~  
  
Ezra P. Standish tugged and brushed at his suit.  
  
"Give it up, Ezra!" Nathan called from behind the camera. "You are standing in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the beginning of a war. No one is gonna care what you look like."  
  
"Mr. Jackson, one person, in the very least, most definitely cares." Ezra answered.  
  
"Yea?" Buck smirked from where he lounged on the hood of the hummer. "I don't care. How 'bout it, Nate?"  
  
Nathan shrugged, hiding his own smirk behind the camera.  
  
"Josiah?"  
  
The big man handed their spokesman the final notes, pausing to eye him. "As long as he gets the facts right, not really." he admitted.  
  
"J.D.?"   
  
The only answer was the sound of typing from the back of the ATV.  
  
Buck chuckled. "Vin?" he glanced over his shoulder to where Vincent Tanner was snoring softly in the driver's seat of the hummer. Buck grinned. "What about you, boss man? You care?"  
  
Chris Larabee glanced up at the night sky.   
  
In the not too far distance they could see flashes of light, feel the explosions through the ground, hear the booms... the first official U.S.A. shots of the war on terrorism in Afghanistan.  
  
Chris turned back to his team. "Far as I care, he could be standing there in his underwear. The camera rolls and he's on the air one way or another."  
  
Ezra glared at each of them, giving his suit one last tug. "Well, I certainly care." he grumbled. A little louder "And, I assure you, Mr Larabee, they would be perectly tailored silk drawers without a wrinkle."  
  
Chris smiled.   
  
J.D.'s earphone adorned head popped out of the back of the ATV. "It's show time, folks."   
  
Josiah took the notes from Ezra and quickly stepped out of the way.   
  
Nathan lined up the camera. "Three... Two... One..."   
  
The light on the camera flashed red.  
  
"This is Ezra P. Standish, and you are on the Front Lines with Channel 7 News."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The End  
  
Of this one anyhow. 


End file.
